


Love in shades of wrong

by Mariss95



Series: In another life [8]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Actors, Alternate Universe, Co-Stars AU, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-16
Updated: 2016-03-23
Packaged: 2018-03-18 03:12:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 17,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3553913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mariss95/pseuds/Mariss95
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Let it be known that Felicity Smoak knows very well that dating a co-star is a bad idea.<br/>Yet little she can do with herself when it comes to one Oliver Queen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> And so came another AU.  
> This time is the once requested by a series of anons for the 1KAU meme: co-stars.  
> Now, unlike the previous ficlets I've written for that meme, this one spurred more words, warranting it to become a multi-chapter story.  
> So this chapter is pretty much a snippet of the present and build up to understand this 'verse.
> 
> I sinceriously hope you like it :) _Happy read!_

Let it be known that Felicity Smoak knows very well that dating a co-star is a bad idea. Even more, _sleeping_ with your co-star is a _very_ bad idea.

Yet if she’s honest with herself, that notion is the furthest thing from her mind as Oliver Queen presses her against the desk, his curious hands and expert mouth eliciting a whimper from her parted lips that would make her blush were she not... well, _distracted_.

But let’s rewind to how exactly they got there, shall we?

 

* * *

 

It all started with Felicity’s big break: an independent film that put her on the map and in the award show’s nominees short-list. From a first time human drama about abandonment issues and getting back on one’s feet -two fields Felicity had plenty of experience in- to being named Cannes’s revelation star and a whole lot of flashing lights that startled more than dazzled her.

In all honesty, she’d never been one for being on the spotlight. The actual storytelling and living multiple lives in one entranced her much more than Hollywood’s fakeness did; but she loved that project and if she had to flash some empty smiles and answer one too many personal questions for it, so be it.

It wasn’t all bad, really. Touching people with her work and wearing designer dresses were definitely plusses. It was just... overwhelming.

Thank god she had Sara by her side through it all to hold onto her sanity.

They’d been best friends since their high school years. In truth it had been Sara the first immersed in drama club and modeling, cheering Felicity to join along and pursue her hidden dream. It wasn’t until she’d been graduating from MIT that Felicity finally gave it a shot.

A single recorded audition from her dorm room that would fall on the hands of one John Diggle and change her life forever.

Fast forward two years where she first met _him_.

Oliver Queen.

Billionaire, superstar, devilishly handsome Oliver Queen.

He had been in the business since his teenage years, first as a heartthrob and resident tabloid trouble-maker; then, after his father’s passing and subsequent five-year break, reappearing in a more somber version of himself, more mature and daunting, but equally intriguing.

Gone were the shallow roles as he moved onto praised and awarded ones, of deeper characters, darker, tormented and layered; and so had become his private life as well. 

Drunken disorderlies and media scandals were replaced by the occasional picture of him with a model or two in a deserted island or outlandish yatch. Where there once were oozing charisma and blatant flirting, there was stoic silence or empty words behind a well-crafted mask. 

That’s when she first got into him.

After all, mysteries had always bugged her.

And she would be lying if she said he didn’t leave her star-struck that very first day.

Maybe it was the blinding lights and cameras of the theatre. Or the jittery feeling due to being nominated. Or could be the fact that everything she thought she knew about him, from his work mixed with tabloid gossip and interviews seen in passing, blew up right from the very first ‘hello, I’m Oliver Queen’.

Not one to disappoint a crowd -read, an overjoyed Sara by her side-, Felicity went on a one-minute babble that started with asserting who he was like five times and ended up with the mention of his famous father and his, well, lack of life. Even an expert at selling lies as him couldn’t mask his dislike at that topic.

World famous and overly-awarded film producer Robert Queen had been the big guns of the business. Rich as only imaginable, he’d been the one to kick-start Oliver’s acting career back then, and never missed a chance to state so ever since (a fact Oliver would later admit made his blood boil and restraint be tested).

But where were we?

Right, the first ever rambling fit Oliver ever witnessed.

“I’m sorry. Calling out your dead father was definitely not what I'd planned to say when I met you. Not that I ever really pictured meeting you at all... though my fifteen-year old self sure had at least one dream about it - which you definitely didn’t need to know about, like  _ever_.”

Thankfully by the end of it the corner of his mouth lifted in an actual smile, unlike the faked and forced ones he so often sported (that seemed to be enough for the press but only served to draw her in more).

And then, as if his sinful appearance and hypnotic gaze weren’t enough to blow her mind, he said this:

“Slade was right. There’s something about you.”

_Come again?_

“Slade. Wilson? _The_ Slade Wilson responsible for my three favorite films ever? He knows who I am?”

As nonchalantly as possible (as if this wasn’t the turn-around of her career) while still looking amused at her excitement, he went on.

“He loved your performance and has this role he says you’d be perfect for,” he paused as she stopped breathing, then averting his eyes added, “He’s not wrong; you were terrific,” effectively erasing any possible cohesive response from her.

“Oh frack,” she let out right as the lights dimmed announcing the commercial break was over and they should retake their seats.

“Good luck, Felicity,” he breathed passing her paralyzed form.

And right then and there, Felicity Smoak decided her name had never sounded better.

After that it took Sara physically shaking the life back to her body to get a grip.

Felicity would be lying if she said her eyes didn’t stray his way for the following hour or so. And she’s be shy to admit she found his trained on hers as well.

 

\---------- 

 

At the end she didn’t win, but she might as well had, for she got the phone call offering her an audition to Slade’s upcoming project not a week afterwards. Nothing like the star lead’s nod of approval to get a shoe in, apparently.

Yet sometimes you gotta watch what you wish for.

“Sara, _I can’t do this!_ ,” Felicity found herself saying as she closed the final page of the script. “I mean, it is glorious and exciting, but _way_ out of my comfort zone or even realm of capabilities.”

“Oh yes, you can. If there’s a word that’s never gone along with you is ‘ _can’t_ ’.”

“As if Oliver Queen and Slade Wilson weren’t intimidating enough, a con-artist who has every man in the room in a puddle at her feet? That’s as far from me as you can find.”

Yet it wasn’t, if Sara’s eyebrow raised and meaningful pause were any indication. At least in the captivating as hell front.

“Isn’t playing multiple lives the reason you wanted to act in the first place?,” she argued in place, knowing the initial fear of not being good enough was pulling at her friend’s emotions. “For the record, I think you’d be great at it. It is a pretty sweet role by what I could read, challenging and intense. You think about it.”

And so she did.

So Felicity would blame Sara’s faith in her and that god-dammed irresistible character in the page for embarking on the journey that would shake her world.

 

\---------- 

 

Auditioning wasn’t in her list of favorite things to do. And rightfully so. Scary, intimidating people with blank expressions weren’t exactly the most reassuring crowd; but she was learning to deal with it.

Chemistry tests, on the other hand, were a whole new, uncharted territory. 

Like how did it work? Did fireworks were supposed to burst out when your eyes met, bringing a light-bulb to life over the director’s head signaling that it'd work?

And what about the awkwardness of having to straight-on play along with someone on the spot? Where there were no markers or even a playing field established.

Pacing back and forth around the waiting room, nursing a second cup of coffee in her shaky hands, Felicity tried to clear her head and focus on what she knew.

Her character.

The small window since the reading of the script had been spent getting to know and love her, the ins and outs of her intricate mind and mission, tapping into the confidence and self-assurance she possessed.

Calm, poised, in control. Aware of every inch of her body. Deliberate moves and looks, always playing a game of deception.

She was taking a deep breath, straightening her posture when a throat clearing startled her.

“Hi,” Oliver Queen called, bursting her bubble and causing pure Felicity to spring forth.

“Hey,” she sighed, taking him in once again.

Though just as tensed as he’d been that night at the award show, he didn’t seem guarded, but drained; his rumpled hair a proof of his growing frustration over the day’s work.

Yet he smiled down at her, soft and light with a hint of curiosity in his gaze.

Her breath hitched involuntarily at the sight. God, she hated how much like a teenager he made her feel.

“Oliver, Felicity? We’re ready for you.” 

The classical interruption came forth in form of an assistant calling them into the room. Oliver gave a polite nod in return but turned back to Felicity once alone again.

“You ready?”

“Not really,” she voiced before thinking, “I mean yes, I want to, but in the more general sense I’m freaking out. I feel like I know ‘her‘ already, but it’s just...”

“Just what?,” he inquired calmly as she nervously trailed off, turning to biting her lip instead.

“I don’t know how this is supposed to work. No offense, but I barely know you and now I’ve got to cross that door and full on come at you as her,” she babbled, blushing as she went on. “I mean, what are the no-cross lines here? I know how she would be flirting with ‘him’ you, not _you_  you, of course. But-”

“Felicity,” Oliver whispered taking one step closer, amusement and the ever-present intrigue painting those greek-god features of his. “Just walk in there as her and...,” he paused, a hand ghosting over the naked skin of her shoulder, before breathing out what left her shivering in his trail as he left the room, “ _don’t hold back_.” 

And so she didn’t.

Walking into that room and leaving no doubt that she was ‘her’ in all her captivating glory. Coming up to (not) Oliver Queen and leaving him in a puddle under her penetrating gaze. Feeling empowered, reveling in the surprise in his deep blue eyes at her changed demeanor and the rewarding clenching of his jaw at her softest yet purposeful touch.

 

Her official offer came less than a week later.

She signed on the dotted line, with the effect Oliver had on her still fresh in mind.

Oh she was so screwed.

Not like _that_. 

_Yet_.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First week of shooting. Lots of counting backwards involved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! I'm touched and deeply thankful for the amazing response this story's gotten so far. Your excitement made my day :)  
> As a reward, here's a fast update!
> 
>  
> 
> _Happy reading!_

 

_Oh my god, this is_ **_not_ ** _happening. Just get yourself together, Felicity!_

If only it were that easy.

Pacing back and forth in her trailer, she runs her fingers over her already heavily disheveled hair, trying and failing to catch her breath, to catch up with her wandering thoughts and somehow reel herself back to normal.

Yet there’s not a shred of normalcy to all this.

She’s just come to a halt to take a deep steadying breath when the door clicks open behind her. 

She doesn’t turn around, not even as footsteps climb up the short stairs and the door clicks shut with finality. There’s really no need.

Felicity knows with every trembling fiber of her being that it’s _him_.

She lets out a shaky breath, taking a final moment to open her eyes, to try (and fail) to calm down before turning around to face him; all the while repeating the same useless mantra in her head.

_Get yourself together. Three, two, one._

 

* * *

 

“You should get that tattooed by now.”

The jest came from Sara through the phone. In any other moment Felicity would crack a smile at her best friend’s teasing, knowing she did so to calm her down.

But right then she was a little too busy trying not to give in to the very tempting impulse of quitting.

Because it was her first day of shooting and she was currently in her trailer facing the ridiculously scant piece of lingerie she was supposed to wear. 

Did she mention already that was the _only_ thing she was expected to wear? On her first day on set. In front of not only _the_ director, populous crew, a remarkable cast, but also, and most nerve-wracking, the most captivating and riddled person she’d ever laid eyes on and stumbled with her words over. 

Oliver Queen.

It was not as if she hadn’t known about _it_. There had been a costume test, alright. But then it had been just her and the costume designer, Raisa, who had so kindly made sure -without even the need to be asked- that they had the appropriate privacy for her to be comfortable.

And strangely enough, she had been just that. Trying on piece after piece, delighted by Raisa’s keen eye and incomparable talent to make her look incredible, enhancing her, well, _assets_ while still being tasteful.

In that dimly lit room she had felt pretty good about herself, feeling more empowered and like she could do this with each look in the mirror. Her posture had straightened with the right heels, helping Felicity ease into the required allure of her character.

Yet that morning, in her panda flats and still with bed hair, the sight of the sensual get-up filled her with dread instead of the needed confidence.

“‘Lis, take a deep breath, you’ve got this,” Sara’s reassuring voice echoed in her ears. “Do you want me to go there for moral support?”

“No actually, I think that would be worse. Not that _you_ would make it worse! But I can’t be _me_ right now if I’m going through with this, so I’d think it better to steer away from Felicity-me, ‘cause the only scenario in which _me_ me would walk into a room full of people in _that_ would be in my worst nightmares. And oh my god, that thought doesn’t help at all.”

“Okay, just take a breath and mentally count down from three again. That always seems to help. You’ve got your playlist?”

With that Felicity focused away from that damn garment bag that represented her fear and anxiety, and instead patted her pocket until she had a tight grasp on her iPod.

_Music_.

Another thing beside numbers that always worked to get her focused, on track. Since reading the script and taking on the job, Felicity knew she needed to not only get to know her character to the bone, but also find ways to tap into her inner rhythm, her train of thought as well as find her mannerisms. 

Make-up and hair only did so much to help play pretend, but she needed to feel _her_ to her core in order to do this right. Or, as she was just finding out, to do this _at all_.

With some final words of encouragement from Sara in the lines of ‘go knock them dead!,’ Felicity snatched her iPod, put on her outfit for the day and her silk robe over it and, without looking in the mirror, rushed to hair and make-up.

Two hours of embellishment followed that she used to get really ready for this. Headphones on, she let the chosen music set the pace, recounting her character’s backstory, motives, hopes and fears; effectively shredding Felicity Smoak to give place to pure Natalie Henken. 

Or just plain Jane, as Natalie was pretending to be that day.

Just plain lap dancer and men-enchanter Jane.

Such a stretch from whom Felicity was everyday, yet exactly who she was when entering the set that first day and every other day of that week.

She’d never forget, through the fogged memory of her other self’s point of view, the hitch in the crowd’s breathing once she’d strutted into the club built up for the scene; extras and main actors alike reacting to her pull.

Maybe it was Natalie’s confidence speaking, but in that instance she felt that would have happened even if they weren’t expected to do so.

She reveled specially in the way Oliver’s -or more accurately Michael’s- eyes followed her every move, like etched on her skin and the sway of her hips as her character purposely evaded his presence while secretly trying to get his attention.

Thinking back on it later on, she knew it could all had very well been part of their pretend world. But damned if the way he studied her across the distance with rapt attention and, she’d even dare to say fascination, didn’t feel absolutely real. 

That feeling could be a result of his behavior and staring not wavering even when ‘cut’ was called and the haze and stillness of the shoot gave place to rushing movement and carefree chatter from everyone around.

Everyone but her, strategically not breaking character in fear of not being able to pull herself back together to do this; and him, effortlessly easing in and out of it to address whoever approached him with a comment or question, while still flicking back time and again -on and off camera, much to her confusion- to that penetrating gaze that kept her hypnotized.

It felt like too much and not enough at the same time. Puzzling and intoxicating.

And, dangerous as it was, she couldn’t for the life of her -Jane, Natalie or pure Felicity- look away.

She held every pointed look sent her way throughout the never-ending shoot, until the lights finally dimmed and she walked back to the safety of her trailer, still feeling the heat of those blue eyes on her skin.

Like a weight being lifted, she breathed with freedom in the solitude of her little space; for as exciting and satisfactory being that person had been, it sure carried a lot of thought and pressure.

Slumped against a desk she breathed back to normal, to Felicity and a world where Oliver Queen couldn’t be looking at her like _that_. Because that was the thing of fantasies and fifteen-year old’s dreams.

With one final look in the mirror and prideful smile by her work that day, she changed back to her comfort clothes and went home, still trying (and failing) to shake the warmth in her skin where Oliver’s stare had felt closer to a touch.

 

\---------- 

 

And so that delicious torture repeated itself for a whole week.

Felicity would mentally freak out off-set a bit until exhaustion and a memory of his looks would come back to assure her that she wasn’t totally failing the job. 

Then there was her life on set, that amounted to a few short moments of being herself before falling freely into Natalie’s world, letting her take the lead. It was quite a journey, being in control of every single thing about herself, all the time; but everything and everyone helped, with the way they reacted to her to the firm and insightful direction Slade gave her.

He was incredible, as wise and sharp as his films painted him to be. He had a clear vision but, best of all, he trusted his actors to take the reigns, where their character’s movements and certain choices were concerned. Freedom was awarded to them to take chances and follow their instincts. That way it’d all flow, be organic and as real as it could be; he’d argue.

By what she felt and saw in the work of everyone around her, it sure seemed to be working.

When the weekend rolled around, she finally got a break to retell Sara the craziness this ride had been so far. Then with calm came preparedness, reading the scenes to follow, delving into that world until it felt her own.

So far she hadn’t had much dialogue or forefront action, more like the quiet setting of her character as a part of a whole, the focus of the narrative being placed on Oliver’s character, looking in that world and zeroing in on her.

Now, she realized with both excitement and dread as she turned the page over, that zero would jump start to sixty in a flash.

Because Michael was not a man of quietly looking on the sidelines, but of action. He had a mission and a keen eye for talent. That meant no more gazing from afar or calculating a risk, but facing her at last straight-on.

And just her luck, that meant getting her -Jane, Natalie, _Felicity_ \- close; her-supposed-employment kind of close.

And thus Felicity Smoak finally acknowledged she’d be giving Oliver Queen a lap dance.

A very platonic, professional lap dance that would totally not lead to her freaking out or to him taking her breath away in every possible way.

_Get yourself together, Smoak. Three, two, one._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Thank you so much for reading!!_
> 
>  I really hope you guys enjoyed it! Would definitely love to hear your reactions and thoughts on it :)  
> We didn't exactly catch up to the present in this chapter, but it's coming!! (pun intended). Rating of this story may change, depending on how stubborn the writing part of my brain is.
> 
> xo, Lucy


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lap dances and denial. Best combo ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU can hardly sum up how happy your response has made me feel. But I’m pretty sure I ran out of words writing this chapter out, so I’ll leave it at that and a huge bear hug at the distance!  
> I’m no expert on ratings, but this one surely bumps it up from where we were at least a little bit…  
> As always, I’d love to have feedback of any sort from you alll. Just a kudos helps the mood, a bookmark paints a full on smile, and a comment? a very dorky happy dance :)  
> Without further ado, here’s the longest and probably most interesting chapter yet.  
>  _Happy reading!_

 

Denial only worked for so long.

Felicity found herself staring at her reflection in the make-up chair, a sensual version of ‘ _I put a spell on you_ ’ blasting in her ears, drowning the rattle around her.

It was that time to shed every insecurity and residual nerves, letting worry for when the lights dimmed at the end of the day.

She walked into set with purpose as any other day, her silky robe the only barrier between her dark lacy lingerie and the crowd. It was smaller than usual, she noticed with content; a set of scenes of smaller scale than the ones shot before being the reason.

Yet for her it felt all the more challenging.

First came a last part in the club, with just a handful of extras around, Oliver and her, as his character finally approached her with a quiet request for more.

Felicity’s eyes met Oliver’s across the room, for the first of dozens of times that day. The initial spark, that had been planted far before that day, lit up with just that fleeting look.

“Everyone get set. Oliver, Felicity, a word,” Slade requested at her arrival. Once huddled in the middle of the room, she forced her sight from Oliver’s suited form and characteristic stillness to their director’s unfiltered words. “This is the start. It has to be believable, palpable even through the screen, but most importantly, between you two. So,” he paused, fixing them both with a stern yet encouraging look, “make me believe it.”

_Oh that they would do, and then some._

Her gaze fixed in Oliver’s, she gave him a slight nod as a reply to the dare lacing his features, then sauntered away to her place.

“Action!”

And it was on.

Hazy, heady, haunting.

That was how he made her feel once his full attention and intent were placed on her. A purposeful look, the warmth of his palm on her elbow, a tilt of his head as he smoothly and oh so wickedly asked for some ‘private time’. 

Felicity Smoak had no shame in admitting she would have shaken to the core.

Natalie, on the other hand, met each attack to her senses with her chin up, her own eyes flicking over every inch of him, from those dark pools down the stubbled jaw and fine Italian fabric to their first point of bodily contact and then back up again, staring up at him through her lashes.

His adam’s apple bobbled at last, and she felt successful.

“My pleasure,” she purred before leading the way.

‘Cut’ was called, halting her step and slowing her thundering heart as Oliver stepped back and away.

 

And thus another form of enticing bodily torture took place for the next hour or so, as they did take after take from every point of view needed.

Surprisingly nerves didn’t sneak back into her; contrarily, they were flushed away with each passing touch and taste of what it could be.

By the time re-set had been called, there were only Michael and Natalie in place, though those lines were becoming dangerously blurry, as _that_ Oliver was all she knew. 

Hard lines and barely readable expressions, brimming with curiosity and pent-up tension.

As she said, maddening torture. 

Her robe hanging lose and open over her frame, she took a short coffee break as the lightning was being done. The warmth beneath her fingertips soon took over her whole being as he stepped close behind her. 

He hadn’t even said a word yet, but the shift in the air around her gave him up, the smell of sandalwood enveloping her and drawing her one step closer. 

“It’s going well,” his gravelly voice carried with the hint of a smile in it.

She just hummed in reply, enjoying the tension in the air.

“You ready?,” he whispered when the assistant director signaled them it was almost time; and, at her slight nod in response, added, “Should we plan this out? Cues and boundaries?”

His offer hanged in the air for a minute, successfully throwing her back to their chemistry test and her initial worries over this.

Yet she was not that girl anymore. At least not right now.

“No,” she breathed at last.

Felicity glanced at him over her shoulder and, with a coy smile gracing her cherry lips, sultrily offered in return.

“Just _don’t hold back_. I sure won’t.”

And with that she let her robe fall over her shoulders and to the ground, then stalked towards her mark, leaving a gaping Oliver Queen at her tail.

 

* * *

 

Felicity was sure, that was the best and worst kind of torture, at the same time.

It had been a half hour. Thirty excruciatingly hot minutes.

With renewed purpose to get him -Michael _and_ Oliver- to her feet, she hadn’t pulled her punches. Forgotten was denial and every shred of concern over the blurred lines between them.

Instead she had let full reign to the part of herself that wanted, that _needed_ to have him wrapped around her finger. 

It had started with a look, as usual, as they’d entered the small, darkened room and she’d silently guided him towards the crimson-colored seat in the middle. With just a small shove to his firm chest, he had fallen onto it, eyes still deliriously locked on hers.

Whenever they’d strayed, and oh they did plenty in the hours to come, they’d glide over every inch of skin to view and the few yet to be revealed, only to come back, hooded and laden with lust, to hers once again.

Then had come her stepping forth to crowd his space, taking residence between his parted thighs and leaning down to breathe a few lines, her hands ever so slightly running over his broad shoulders and down his chest.

His muscles had gone taut at the first touch, as he’d sucked in a breath. Her smirk had widened in victory.

And so had come a slew of moves she’d be shy to retell even an insistent Sara later on. 

Leaning back with renewed spirit, to begin softly exploring her body with her own gentle touch, not kneading as she’d wanted to do under Oliver’s gaze, but simply directing his view down the planes and curves of her body, while her words played him right as she intended to.

Then walking back to him once she was sure he was under her spell, turning around just out of touch and teasing him with the shake and swirl of her hips to the beat of the music within her. Reveling in how tightly he was clenching his jaw once she turned back around, stiffly holding onto the edge of his seat.

“Come here,” he’d groaned at last; right then she couldn’t remember if he was even supposed to say so, but it didn’t matter. Because no halt had been called from the people around them, and not a single part of herself had wanted to fight it either.

He’d swallowed thickly with the first graze of her chest to his. Knees on either side of his hips, she’d held herself up and begun the even more tortuous process of dancing over and on him. A careful sway of her hips, undulating motion that like a tide brought them closer then farther apart and then back together again. 

“ _No. Touching_ ,” she’d warned on cue when his palms had lifted at last from the death grip he’d had on the edge of the seat, towards her thighs once she’d finally brushed his lap. 

She’d set then a tortuously slow pace in motion. Of purposed shifts and glances until he was basically squirming under her, vibrating with need. Conversation had gone on, needed for the plot, as had started the pressing touches from her part -not scripted, but _totally_ needed-.

A palm over his drumming heart that had soon turned to her nails trailing a path downwards then back again, feeling his muscles shifting beneath her touch, totally at her mercy. Her breast gliding against his front as her eyes locked on his daring ones.

A distant part of herself -Natalie or Felicity, didn’t matter- reminded her this was supposed to be an act, a means to an end. The part of herself in charge assented that was all acting.

Yet, though she had certainly acted before, _that_ was something completely different.

Because yes, that wasn’t her and Oliver surely wasn’t _Oliver_ right then and there. There was a dangerous edge in his stare, mischief curving his mouth into a side smirk, and the undeniable streak of desire in his veins.

Still, there was little pretending in the darkening of his cobalt eyes; in the rubbing of his thumb with his forefinger when he was reeling himself in; in the grunting that reverberated in his chest -felt whenever it pressed against hers- when the word ‘cut’ sliced through the air effectively pushing them apart for the time being.

She halted her movements at that command, remaining hovering over him for a beat, their eyes in an unwavering battle of wills, before finally giving up and walking away.

Warmth tinted her cheeks red as the place came back to life around them. She barely registered Slade’s words of praise laced with a subtle urging for _more_ , as the crew rushed to get the next shot ready.

More.

How could there be more than _that_?

She dove back in then, making sure to switch her routine, taking different chances and judging success by the amount of restraint showcased in Oliver’s body. The twitching of a muscle in his neck, the shift of his posture once and again, the play of shadows in his gaze. It all betrayed her effect on him, even as the character played the unaffected part for the lens.

And so the hours passed.

‘Action’ would be called, they would do their dance, then halting up cold with the call of ‘cut’. Each time she would stand up and stretch then, with an air of pride, knowing how utterly and uncontrollably affected he was.

It was empowering, exhilarating.

That was until the last set-up of the day happened.

It was a close-up of both of their faces, solely focused in the moment shared on his lap. Simple enough considering by then the cameras close by weren’t even registered by them while in action.

Yet this time, as she went about the dance, something changed, suddenly changing _everything_.

As her hips grazed his, then grounded down to lightly tease him further, she was met with Oliver Queen in all his growing glory.

She barely halted her movements for a beat as he froze beneath her touch, their eyes flying to each other at the contact.

Until then she could fool herself with the pretense that this was _just_ Michael and Natalie, even though the want reigning her body screamed otherwise. Until then she could forget Oliver Queen was flesh and blood and not just illusion for the screen, thoughts and needs just as real as hers.

Until it became crystal clear this was definitely not _just_ pretending, nor just strictly platonic.

Time seemed to slow down as she made her choice, to pull away or keep going. As if her mind had no vote in the matter, her treacherous body rolled down against all of him again, delighting in the widening of his deep blues and the hitch in his breath.

A voice at the back of her head tried to reel her back then, remind herself of the cameras and people surrounding them.

That was a dangerous move.

Yet Felicity, in whatever state she was at, couldn’t find the restraint or force of will to do differently. 

Still if what came afterwards was any indication, she - _they-_ frankly had little choice on the matter.

For it felt inevitable, unstoppable from that very first moment their eyes had met months before; only to build up until exploding that very night.

So she shredded every apprehension over their current situation, giving Oliver the smallest smile in reply to put him at ease; the fire within her spreading as he took her cue and played along, shooting the best damn take anyone had ever seen.

From that moment forward his eyes completely captured hers, as she found herself unable to look away. Intoxicated, heady, and deeply addicted.

‘ _Cut_!,’ a gruff voice finally called, serving as a timely reminder that they weren’t alone. That she couldn’t very well reach all the way down and take this to a whole new level, no matter how much they both wanted to.

“That’s a wrap for today, people! Hell of a job!”

_Hell sounded warm enough, alright._

For the last time that day she drew back and away from his lap, not before her sight flicked down then up to meet his again with intent.

The hunger in his eyes was undeniable.

Her tongue darted out to lick her lips on her own accord.

Midnight blue followed the path with rapt attention; the corner of his own lips twitching in anticipation.

“ _Felicity?_ ”

And thus the spell was broken.

Like a bucket of ice cold water had been thrown over her scalding body, she returned at once back fully to herself. 

Tearing her gaze from Oliver’s, she turned fully to her assistant, Caitlin, who stood cheerfully by the side, arms out-stretched offering her robe to her. The crew was working in full swing around them, turning in for the day, thankfully not having noticed anything strange.

“Thank you,” she managed to let out after clearing her suddenly-clogged throat. She slid the robe on and secured it firmly around her waist, doing her best to slip back to her morning self.

As Caitlin begun reporting her upcoming schedule, Felicity focused solely on not turning back, being more than aware of the movement behind her as Oliver apparently snatched out of their daze as well.

“Wait, so we’re done for today?,” she interrupted the rushed brunette as she led them both towards the set’s exit.

“Yes. You’ve got tomorrow off and it’s back to work on Wednesday through Friday on the scenes with Tommy,” Caitlin went on, yet Felicity was miles from there, for she had committed the terrible mistake of looking back.

At what she’d done and, most importantly, _felt_ during the last few hours. At the need still bursting through her veins and the ghost of his breath on her skin. At those haunting deep blue eyes and the irresistible man they belonged to.

Not even denial could help her then as she saw the exact same things reflected in his stare across the room.

“ _Oh frack._ ”

“What?,” Caitlin startled by her side, drawing Felicity’s attention momentarily her way.

“Nothing. Just, I’m tired so if we’re done for the day I think I’m gonna go over there and change,” she babbled pointing towards the general direction of her trailer.

“Okay, if you need me to stick around-”

“NO!,” the words burst out before she could filter them down. Right now she could barely grasp for thoughts, words were far too of a stretch. She did her best to sound unaffected and as if her attention wasn’t totally focused across the room. “I mean no, thank you. We’re good for today. I just need some privacy for now.”

“Oh, great! I’ll leave you to it then and make sure the staff knows you’re not to be disturbed. Have a nice night!,” Caitlin cheered, thankfully filing her strangeness as due to the difficult day on set she sure had.

_Hard_ might be a more accurate description of it.

Felicity halted by the door, terribly aware of his still searing gaze on her back. She met it over her shoulder one last time, not sure if asking for more or for it to stop, before dashing out and through the lot towards her trailer.

Mind over matter didn’t seem to be working anymore. Denial finally ceasing to be her friend and giving place to the good, old, troublesome realization that she was royally screwed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Thank you for reading!!_  
>  I hope you enjoyed the dance. It sure was fun to write.  
> I bet you can guess (who) what comes in the next chapter...
> 
> Pretty please leave a line or two with your reactions, whatever's on your mind right now, curse words allowed :)
> 
> xo, Lucy


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The thrill and pleasure of falling down the rabbit-hole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we’ve reached the present, the start of this story. And thus, the rating went up to  _mature_.  
>  I recommend re-reading the crumbs to this scene left in the previous chapters to get the full picture. Also, though totally up to you, I suggest listening to Clare Bowen and Sam Palladio’s wonderful covers of these two songs, that both inspired and set the mood for this chapter:  _[fade into you](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A6SG_Xo3e38)_ , and  _[if I didn’t know better](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6ONMaGBbea0)_.  
>  As always, but especially for this particularly-challenging-to-write chapter,  _I’d love to hear your reactions_. They fuel my writing, and cheer me through all the blushing and self-doubt I encounter along the journey of facing where these two drive me to.  
>  _Happy reading!_

 

Less than five minutes have passed.

For them to leave the set and barely catch their breaths.

Five excruciatingly long minutes of waiting but definitely not enough for her to wrap her head around what exactly she was waiting for.

Yet before she could even begin to gather her thoughts and clear her fogged brain, he had made _his_ choice.

Felicity turns around at last, finally meeting his gaze again.

A gasp leaves her parted lips at the sight.

Just by the door, yet quite rooted in place, Oliver stands. He makes no move at her reaction, but the quick flicker of his sight down to her mouth then back again allows her to read his hunger.

As if that was needed.

Unlike the stoic, in-control Oliver she had encountered every other time, the one before her is brimming with barely-contained lust, trembling under the power of her stare, barely tethered to the edge. 

She can see that the very tight leash he’d had around his need all this time has frayed and is just a thin thread away from giving in.

All he needs is permission.

For yes, there’s not a muscle on his body but his brain holding him in place and not already on her by now. Yet, instead of giving, he’s asking for just the slightest hint of her approval.

She knows without a doubt that if -and that’s a big _if_ right now- she were to take a single step backwards or flick her eyes away, he’d be gone without a word being voiced. For that she’s grateful, and not only because her throat is suddenly _very_ dry and speaking seems inconceivable right now. 

But then, in a single move that finally has them falling down the rabbit-hole, Felicity takes a step forward -metaphorical and literally speaking-.

He’s closing the space between them and finally putting his hands on her in a second.

Her eyes snap shut at the very first touch, a craving moan escaping her mouth as his right hand cups her face and the onslaught begins. His wicked mouth hungrily captures hers, nipping, pulling, gently biting down then swiftly soothing it with his tongue.

He waits no time sliding his free arm around her waist to bring her closer, flush to his heaving chest, once she relinquishes access to her mouth, deliriously curving her tongue around his. Moans and grunts mix within them both as a whole new dance takes place.

Her fingers take a firm hold on the back of his head, carding through the short strands and pulling him closer still, molding her body to his until there’s no way to know where he ends and where she begins. He’s present, relentless and still painfully ready against her.

Her skin sets afire once his touch finds its way beneath her robe, clutching her sides as he so desperately wanted to do before. This time there’s no words of resistance from her, but approval instead, in the raking of her nails around and down his thick neck to clutch the thin material of his shirt. Her robe hits the ground about the same time his suit jacket is tugged down his arms, tearing them apart for a split-second before they dive back in with renewed force. 

Every move of his is countered by one of her own, breathing in and out before coming back together again. His touch grows demanding on her, kneading down and around until he’s palming her ass and pressing her tighter still against his growing arousal, swallowing the wanton noise that tears from her throat in response.

Then he’s guiding her backwards until the hard edge of her desk presses against her lower back. With a guttural grunt, his hands tug at the back of her thighs and he lifts her up and to him, to then place her reluctantly on the desk. 

Willingly and without thought, her legs encircle him, her still heeled feet bringing his middle closer, closer still as she begins a pull of her own with the swivel and press of her hips to his which, though quite mirrors the one on the scene, feels oh _so_ much better as he meets each swing with a tug of his own, creating a delicious rhythm that somehow further spurs them on.

Yet as maddening and rewarding as this is after hours of craving just that, right now it is far from enough.

He seems to be of the same mind, as he foregoes his hold of her waist to trace a path lower and more dangerous still, tugging at the edges of her underwear, over her butt and down her legs once she sucks in a breath in consent.

She spares no time in undressing him in return, tugging his shirt free then skipping the wasteful process of unbuttoning it to simply tear it free from his skin. He can think of an excuse later on, right now logic is so far from mind it’s ridiculous.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he groans through gritted teeth at the motion, his fiery eyes brifly meeting hers before fluttering shut at the touch of her lips to his naked skin. She works a path down his neck and over his chest as he makes quick work of his pants, unceremoniously letting them and what he had beneath fall to the floor.

She has just teased a nipple with her teeth when he calls it enough. Enough torture, enough foreplay, enough restraint.

He brings her mouth back to his, resuming the dance that ignited this spark. His tongue traces her lips, as his touch mirrors the move gliding up her ribcage until she’s arching into his touch, breasts full on his hold, taut and panting and oh so ready. Small mewling sounds escape her mouth, particularly as the rolling of their hips resumes, this time skin to skin, both so painfully ready and aching for more.

_“More”,_ she asks for in a ragged breath, and he so dutifully complies fumbling down to ready himself with a condom she has no recollection of him pulling out of his pocket. 

“My pleasure,” he growls in reply, voice dropping, echoing her line from what feels like forever ago. Her smirk in response quickly gives into a moan as he finally enters her in one swift thrust.

Their frantic movements still for a moment, alike the one when she first was faced with his blatant arousal. Darkened blues meet her own fogged glaze as both their lips widen into smiles of contentment, of relief after enduring so much teasing; for a dance is only as good as its resolution.

Their lingering doesn’t last long though, as she’s reminded of how wonderfully unbridled he is. 

With a swivel of his hips they’re back in motion, a new vigorous pace being set. Of deliberate twists, pushes and pulls; a blaze of desire bursting through their veins and further inciting them forward.

He’s heartily pounding into her, desperately urgent, as if trying his hardest to counter the painfully slow dance they’d engaged on set. She’s breathless, panting within seconds when his lips tear themselves from hers with a rough roar to begin exploring downwards. 

The small whimpers she lets out in return betray how affected she is just as much as her clenching around him does, warmth and arousal letting him glide in and out with the most perfect combination of ease and pressure she’s ever felt. 

She delights in the way he falters momentarily when her fingers dig hard into his back, enjoying the play of muscle beneath her touch. Roaming south, she focuses then on branding him with as much enthusiasm as he’s groping her. Over her thighs, hips, the swell of her ass -that grants a particularly loud groan from her mouth- and up her chest to cup her still bra-clad breasts; before retracing his steps with just enough variation of his talented hands to pull her closer to the edge.

All the while his lips continue their maddening assault, unrelentingly nipping then soothing the soft skin in the hollow of her throat. He’s remarkably talented, assaulting her senses until she feels herself rapidly fading into him. 

Her usually talkative self, even in the throes of passion, is reduced to unintelligible noises of ecstasy, taken by storm by the sheer power of his actions. She’s tethering closer to the edge with each passing stroke of his tongue over her reddened skin, of his touch to her most sensitive spot, of his painfully hard member in her.

If possible, their rhythm picks up as she presses her heels to his lower back and tugs him with urgency closer, deeper still, enticing a most rewarding groan from his swollen lips. 

With two more thrusts she feels her muscles tighten again, throwing her once and for all tumbling down to the point of no return.

She screams Oliver’s name as she comes.

His receding control, flimsy at best, goes to hell when their eyes lock then once more. Leaning forward, still trembling and wonderfully flying through her powerful orgasm, she captures his lips with hers, swallowing his throaty and final growl as he lets go within her.

She’s floating down from the state of ecstasy, vaguely aware of the last few swivels of his hips as he empties himself fully in her. Flustered and reeling from it all, she focuses on releasing the death grip she still has on his hip and his ass, realizing with surprising pride that her nails definitely left dents on his firm flesh.

Their lips linger just inches apart, ragged breaths mingling as he reels himself back in, releasing his own borderline painful but oh so welcomed grasp on her to settle lightly over her hips.

Five glorious minutes pass before she returns back to her senses.

Leaning just a hair back, she looks up to find his slanted eyes that hold as many questions as she feels swarming in hers.

A new and fairly different gasp leaves her parted lips.

_What have they done?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Thanks for reading!!_
> 
> Sorry not sorry for the wicked cliffhanger. I revel in leaving you hanging :)
> 
> I sinceriously hope this scene lived up to its expectations. Now comes facing what's on the other side of this fall down the rabbit-hole. What are your thoughts on it? How do you think they'll react??
> 
> xo, Lucy


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aftermath. Confusion. Reveals.  
> The plot thickens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _Thank you all so so much for the warm response to this story!_  It makes writing it all the more fun.
> 
> That being said, I must announce the initial idea has grown to the point of depriving me of sleep. That means instead of wrapping it up soon, as I’ve expressed at the beginning,  _the story will be a lengthy one_ , with a planned sequel as well. More characters are introduced then, as we begin figuring out this other side of their journey. I hope the idea is of your liking :) 
> 
> I’d love to know what you think about that, as well as about the chapter itself :)
> 
> Lastly, shout-out to _sorrywhatever_ , for this chapter has the introduction of someone you've been rooting for. Thanks for the enthusiasm :)
> 
> As always,  _happy read!!_

 

 

Felicity Smoak delights in having a good head on her shoulders.

Yes, said fine head more often than not colludes with her mouth to embarrass her to no end. But, at the end of the day, she knows her brain has always been her biggest ally for getting through life. 

Until now.

She’s staring up at Oliver Queen’s still deeply darkened eyes, still perched on top of her trailer’s desk, still _very_ much naked and affected by his... well, _everything_ ; and mentally cursing her brain for cooperating with her libido this time, instead of doing its dutiful job of keeping her out of trouble, making sensible decisions.

Yet, if she’s being honest, under Oliver’s gaze and with his hands now carefully laying over her hips, _this_ feels less like a decision and more along the lines of an inevitability.

And oh what a great, mind-blowing inevitability it has been.

Before she can unravel her tongue to say something, anything, Oliver’s lips part to give voice to _what_ exactly she doesn’t know as they’re so rudely interrupted, yet again; this time, by the shrill ringing of his phone.

His phone that’s inside his pant’s pocket. On the floor. Because he’s naked. 

Yup, just her typical Monday night.

Felicity watches, with both displeasure and relief, how Oliver makes up his mind to take the call, stepping back from between her parted legs to pick up the discarded phone.

She can swear a muted curse leaves his lips at the name on the screen. Then he’s taking a deep breath, bracing himself to go back to normal behavior -though, for all she knows, screwing his co-star's brains off after a day of shooting could very well be his idea of a typical Monday night; a thought that is _not_ welcomed by her at the moment-. 

All she knows for sure is that once Oliver finally answers, his voice is all kinds of confusing.

Still deliciously gruff, making him clear his throat before voicing a word, but also tainted with confusion and just a hint of annoyance.

“Tommy.”

It’s not a question, but more like he’s readying himself for what he knows it’s coming. Even through the over five feet of space Oliver’s created between them, she can hear Tommy’s distinct voice echoing from the phone.

“Man, where are you? I’ve been waiting in your trailer for like half an hour. Jerry said you’ve already left set, but you didn’t pick up the phone in the three times I’ve reached out so far.”

Felicity would have started to freak out were not for the amusement taking over Oliver’s features at his best friend’s words.

“You getting jealous on me, Merlyn?”

The wink he throws her way just then doesn’t hurt either.

As Oliver begins gathering his stuff, nodding to her bathroom in a silent tell he’s going to... take care of his state and get presentable again, Felicity’s filled with a strange feeling of calm.

Oliver’s voice carries away into the other room, assuring Tommy he’ll be right there, just got sidetracked with some questions for tomorrow’s shoot. 

All the while she focuses on reeling _herself_ back to normal, tentatively standing up on still shaky legs, cleaning up and sliding the discarded robe back around her. 

Oliver’s back on the common-room in no time, suit jacket firmly closed before his chest to hide the mess his shirt surely is after her efforts. The phone’s nowhere in sight, and he’s focusing solely on her, eyes straying over her body before meeting hers again.

There’s warmth there with just a tint of worry that he swiftly casts aside with one of those side smirks that get to her.

Again, his lips part to speak. And, again, she doesn’t find out to say _what_ , as she beats him to the punch.

“You should go. Tommy’s waiting.”

“He’s really not good at that,” he offers with a quiet smile.

And yes, Oliver Queen is devastatingly handsome in any shape and form, but smiling Oliver Queen is the best one ever, in her book.

He hesitates, half turned to the door, before softly addressing her.

“We should...,” he begins saying, yet once more her mouth does that thing in which it colludes with her brain.

“I know. Another time,” she finds herself offering. Not sure whether it’s best the talk happens as soon as possible -to make sense of everything she’s feeling- or doesn’t happen at all.

Either way, she’s grateful when he gives her one final nod in reply and then walks away, out of her space and into the night.

She spends the next half-hour changing into some actual clothes, shredding what’s left of Natalie from her being. Felicity’s not sure how much of _her_ she brought back onto her trailer this night. All she feels right now is the receding pleasure of mind-boggling sex as she hasn’t had in quite a while, and a warmth in her chest at the thought of Oliver.

Yet, as if mocking her with its mood swings, her conscious doesn’t take long to come calling. This time with the sudden and terrifying realization that upon coming she had screamed _his_ name. 

Not the man’s she had been supposed-teasing on set, bringing him up and aching for her; but the one behind that mask, human and so very unknown in many ways.

That single word, an unfiltered thought spoken out loud, shattered the small wall of pretense she could’ve put out. Against herself or against him, were Oliver thinking that what they have just done has been between the pretend-versions of themselves instead of actual Felicity and Oliver.

He didn’t seem to regret it, or to think much of it at all, by the playfulness in his actions before leaving. Yet they’d barely said anything about it that could clue her in on his thoughts.

Now she’s definitely _not_ sure she wants to have that talk.

She feels ashamed, confused as hell, and mad at herself; especially with the understanding that she had barely exchanged more than a few polite words with actual Oliver before jumping his bones.

And yes, that sounds like a perfect description of what they have just done.

Exhaustion pulls at every muscle in her body, finally letting her know it’s been more than enough for a single day. Happily complying and filing away the receding fear over what this thing with Oliver -or non-Oliver- means, Felicity drives back home.

Before sleeps takes over that night, she makes her last decision of the day: to take the coward way out and hide away from it all.

Yet inevitabilities always find a way to happen, right?

 

* * *

 

Two days pass and the answers seems to be ‘no’.

Okay, in destiny’s defense, she hadn’t had work the day before, and it’s just the start of Wednesday; day in which, gleefully, Oliver’s not scheduled to be on set.

Still, avoidance seems like the way to go. And, unless until there came firm proof of the contrary, not making a bigger deal of what they had done than it’s needed remains her plan. Because, her own conflicted feelings aside, what assurance did she have that for him it wasn’t just them getting carried away in the moment, in their character’s mindsets?

She’s nowhere near ready to deal with the opposite option. So, for the time being, she’s content with both acting as if nothing had happened.

Yes, that sounds like a solid plan, Felicity repeats herself as she sits in her make-up chair to get readied for the day.

“What is?”

Felicity startles at the sound, finding a puzzled Thea before her.

Yes, gorgeous, spunky Thea, the youngest in the film’s crew. She’s basically an intern around the art department, helping Raisa with styling when allowed, and doing her make-up in the mornings.

“Nothing. Just, thinking out loud. About the acting, the character, you know,” Felicity finally adds, unconvincingly. Yet Thea shrugs it away with an amused chuckle, as she usually reacts to her babbling, before she gets working.

Felicity likes her. She’s all bubbly energy and excitement, animatedly making small talk as she works on Felicity’s make-up for the day. Until she halts the flurry of activity in a split second.

“Whoa, what happened to you?”

“Huh?”

Felicity’s confusion lasts a mere second as she focuses her own sight where Thea’s eyes are burning a whole on her skin. Turning to the mirror, she finally sees it; dark, bold and unmistakable.

_A damn hickey._  

One Oliver had so possessively left marking the sensitive skin just where her throat meets her left shoulder.

Felicity flushes at the sight, silently cursing him in her mind; though, in all honesty, in _that_ moment she’d welcomed and reveled in it and the sensations that brought the patch of skin to redden and bruise that way. And let’s not forget the delirious feel of his stubble burning her skin in his path.

Nope. 

Those are definitely _not_ the thoughts she should be focusing on right now, Felicity realizes at last, thankful when Thea coughs a laugh in amusement yet again before giving her an out.

“Oh, never mind. But feel free to share the details. Girl talk is like my favorite thing to do here,” she adds, wiggling her eyebrows playfully.

Nope. No matter how kind and friendly the young brunette has been with her during their short exchanges every morning, from the smiled hellos until she would plug away to get in character, there’s no way in hell Felicity can tell her that _that_ is the product of one Oliver Queen. That yes, within little more than a week of working together she’s already jumped to bed with her co-star.

Or well, jumped onto her desk and fucked each other until there was no trace that one was once two.

But you get the idea.

So she just blushes further under Thea’s inquisitive looks and smirking expression until she gets her cue to move on and leaves it be with just an “okay, other time then” muttered.

Felicity focuses then in digging her iPod and headphones from her purse, anxious to escape to Natalie’s world, where there’s no guilt, only confidence, and where she hasn’t -yet, at least- given into her lust for any version of Oliver Queen.

She’s just inches away from a clean getaway, to the land of pretending, when a single word brings her plummeting back to hard, cold reality; filling her with equal parts surprise and dread.

“Queenie! How are you this fine morning?,” Tommy cheers as he enters the room, addressing none other than Thea, who rapports without missing a beat, as if they had known each other their whole lives.

Which Felicity just comes to the sudden realization that they probably have.

Because Tommy Merlyn has been Oliver Queen’s best friend and partner in crime basically since their birth -as the tabloids have so vividly displayed particularly over their years of debauchery-. And Thea, as she has just been clued in to, is a Queen.

As in Oliver Queen’s sister.

Felicity would’ve connected the dots sooner were it not for her focusing so hard on her job... And then there’s the fact that Oliver kept her on edge as well, getting all her attention every other non-working hour (and some actual work ones as well).

For she had read long ago that Oliver had a baby sister; she could even recall a beautiful dimply face and a glinting pair of green eyes in a rare red-carpet appearance. But, in her defense, Thea now looked quite different from that lanky kid and, again, Felicity has been quite distracted lately.

Surprise is followed by relief then.

For if there’s something worse than admitting to her co-workers that Oliver Queen sucked a most gratifying hickey onto her skin as he fucked her senseless in her trailer just after filming a five hour lap dance scene together, is telling his little sister about it.

She hides her breath in relief by focusing back on her job, getting into character, cautiously ignoring the curious looks Tommy throws her way.

 

However, avoidance it seems isn’t in her cards. 

For it takes only half a day before Tommy regards her with two words that throw her head back to that place.

“I know.”

She nearly chokes on the bottled water she’d been drinking in between one of their scenes together that day. And, not even bothering to deny anything or ask what he’s talking about, since the blaring mischief etched in his handsome face pretty much renders both actions useless, she whispers a single word in return.

“How?”

“Oliver didn’t tell me, if that’s what you’re thinking,“ Tommy rushes to voice, before following those words with a string of hasty thoughts worthy of her. “I mean, he _did_ , but not exactly with words. You know, for an Oscar-nominated actor he sure has a terrible poker face when it comes to him getting some.”

“Tommy,” she halts him shushing, looking around them in the hopes of no one listening in. If there’s something flush in this line of work -besides cliched co-stars hooking up- is gossip and scandal.

“Right. We’re keeping quiet about it. No problem,” he complies with a knowing wink. 

“No. Not _quiet_. Dead silent. As if that never happened kind of silent.”

“Whoah! I’m no expert in relationships... Actually, _I am_ ; I’ve been happily married for half a decade now. But to the point: burying whatever you guys have is the worst thing you could possible do.” At her hesitant expression, he goes on, “Trust me, I did and it cost Laurel and I three more years of denial and circling around each other than needed. Facing it head on is the best way to go. You either crash and burn, or you soar through. But either way there’s no time wasted.”

Felicity takes a moment to digest the thought, thinking it makes a damn good deal of sense. Still...

“We don’t have a thing, or whatever,” she finally says in reply; not knowing why she feels the need to explain, but oddly enough feeling at ease with Tommy. She hasn’t gotten a chance to sort through her own thoughts and talk it all out with Sara yet, not being ready to admit she had actually gone _there_ and slept with Oliver. Tommy already knowing and facing her straight on about it made it easier somehow, even if they barely knew each other. “It’s complicated. Our characters... it just got out of hand.”

“Oh, out of hand I’m sure,” Tommy teases back, not even flinching at her warning glare. “ _But_ for what it’s worth, I know Oliver. And losing himself on a role like _that_ is not his thing.”

He pauses, as their break between takes comes to an end, throwing her then one last truth grenade before walking away with a grin, brimming with excitement.

“The man you slept with that day is just plain Oliver Queen.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Thanks for reading!!_
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> How about that for her to ponder over?
> 
> Please let me know what you think about it, in as many words you like, I'm not picky. But feedback does mean the world to me, and is a fuel to both writing and especially posting, so pretty please leave something, will ya? :)
> 
> Okay, now begging's over, I leave you all til another update.
> 
> xo, Lucy


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plot, thickening plot. How it paves the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always,  _thank you all so much for the response to this ‘verse!!_  Hope you like the progression and are with me for the road ahead :)  
> That being said, sadly busy personal days are ahead for me (gotta finish editing the short film from hell), so updates are not gonna be as close together.  _Sorry!!_  In the meantime, for news and teases I recommend checking out the [ _update_](http://releaseurinhibitions.tumblr.com/tagged/update) and  _[sunday six](http://releaseurinhibitions.tumblr.com/tagged/sunday%20six)_  tags in my tumblr.  
> This chapter reveals a whole lot more of the film’s plot and its characters, which I’m really excited about. And paves the path ahead…  
>  _Happy read!!_

 

Plain Oliver Queen.

Well, there wasn’t anything _plain_ about him exactly.

Even without the allure of Michael, that Felicity’s quite sure is more an Oliver trait than pure talented acting, he has been unforgettable. For it’s been almost a week from that fateful night and she has barely been able to shake the feeling of his skin against hers.

Granted, she has been working non-stop since then, halting only to catch a few good hours of sleep in between -in which she definitely did _not_ fantasize about him-. Thankfully, being the female lead of a promising blockbuster is a full-time job, of rushing from one set to the other, and bustling rooms that made interacting with Oliver on their one joint scene on Friday afternoon quite manageable.

Once their eyes met for the first time that day he did that adorable thing of tilting his head slightly to the side, lifting a corner of his mouth in silent welcome. There had been a polite nod from her, which seemed like the safe way to go about this, and something Natalie helped her accomplish without blushing under his inquisitive gaze. 

Because yes, there had been puzzlement in his features whenever he dropped character. At her apparent coldness maybe, or the way she actively tried not to stand in his vicinity between takes, choosing instead to gravitate towards Caitlin or Thea, who was on set that day to retouch her make-up.

Point is she kept her distance, postponing the inevitable -the inevitable being their talk and _definitely_ not them hooking up again-. She rationalized it as her giving him a silent out; out of _the_ _talk_ , out of the consequences of what they had done. 

Maybe they could go on working together without anything changing... Though she didn’t know exactly _how_ , especially considering the scenes they were expected to play later on...

Yet Oliver didn’t seem to be taking her chance to drop it, instead leaving faint yet understandable hints that it was up to her to signal when and where he was to approach her. And, alike that night in her trailer, she knew without fail that he would step down if she were to drive him away.

Thus Felicity was left to face the terrifying question she’d been avoiding all along.

What _did_ she wanna do about it?

 

“So, what do you think?”

“I think this is not _my_ choice to make, ‘Lis,” her trusted, always outrageously right best friend says that Sunday night after she’s finally been told everything over a glass of wine. “But, before you finally say out loud what you think about it, let me just state the obvious. He is into you.”

“I’m not sure about it, Sar. I mean _it_ did start in a way during the shoot; what if I’m reading too much into it?”

“Well, for starters, Tommy said so. And, I hate to admit it, but Tommy’s anything but brutally honest and, more often than not, right. Laurel jokingly complaints about it all the time. But I say don’t take his word for it. Since Oliver’s sidetracked your ticket out of it, give him the benefit of the doubt.”

Felicity busies herself refilling her glass to the brim, buying time before facing Sara’s reassuring look.

“ _Talk_ to him.”

“That sounds all kinds of terrifying. And like such a bad idea. I mean I could barely be alone in a room with him for less than five minutes before jumping his bones. And this isn’t exactly a cafe-like talk to do in public either.”

Sara’s laugher in reply fills the room as Felicity takes a sip of her drink, eyes lost in the distance. It takes a little while of studying her best friend’s features: the excitement-laced worry in the way she nips at her lower lip, the fiddling of her fingers with the napkin on her lap, the haze in her faraway look as she’s surely remembering that night’s events. When she’s done, Sara says the one truth she’s absolutely sure of.

“You like him. _A lot_.”

“Huh?,” Felicity breathes as she’s brought back to the present.

“Or at least you want to know him more, see what’s there. You’ve never been like this over any guy, ever. Not Ed, or Seth; not even Cooper. And you had it _bad_ for him for quite a while.”

It isn’t lost on Sara how Felicity still flinches at the mention of the last man that left quite a permanent mark on her, yet she knows it needed to be said. In a flash the reaction’s gone as Felicity mulls over her words, calmly speaking up after a short while.

“It’s just... with Oliver, it’s _different_.”

“Different how?,” Sara offers, guiding her wandering thoughts towards the answer her best friend has known all along yet has been afraid to face.

“Passionate. Intense. Like there’s this leash around me that tightens whenever we’re close by. Which sounds all kinds of bad, but instead is exciting... dangerous, yet feels right. And honestly, what’s scariest of all, is that for once I don’t feel like I can control it, any of it. It’s like he’s giving me choices yet it’s all in vain, since there’s no other answer I can even consider but a _yes_.”

She gasps once that final, defining word leaves her lips. Like she’s surprised at how easy and relieving landing on that thought has been.

“There’s your answer then,” her best friend adds with lightness.

“There it is,” Felicity whispers back, a smile finding its way to her lips before she takes a huge gulp from her glass at the thought that follows that realization.

Now she has to face Oliver.

 

* * *

 

Monday morning on set.

This time, thankfully, an actual set of clothes awaits her inside the garment bag in her trailer. 

It’s actually a skirt and shirt combo that looks like it could’ve been taken out of her closet. Paired with a side french-braid from Sin’s expert hands, and light make-up that brings the brightest smile to Thea’s lips at the sight, Felicity feels quite unusually like herself while still being Natalie.

Turns out that, in the process of getting to know and become her character, she has found actual Natalie -unlike her lap dancing version- to be closer to home than expected. 

Rough around the edges yet pulling herself together, on her own in all the aspects that count, pretending to be someone she’s not for a living, shielding herself from actual feelings towards someone by going for something safe, reliable.

Or at least that had been her before said safe option had turned surprisingly dire. But that was a part of her history she didn’t need to drag to the present -neither her present Felicity or her actual present as Natalie-.

For Natalie was a college student. Broke since the day she was born, she had scraped to get by on foster homes, earning her way through life by learning how to read people, their tells, hopes and dreams. And, once her targets were canvassed, treats and dangers assessed, weaknesses spotted, she’d take her chance and work them to the tee.

Guilt, manipulation and sympathy were her tools. Then with age came lust, desire, the easiest of weapons to sweet-talk people into giving away useful information, or simply to distract them to get a needed keycard or phone.

Over time she’d stepped up to the big leagues, planning thoughtful tactics and moves to get the bigger fishes, in form of wrongful corporations and skeeving men who had gotten away with stealing thousands and seemed virtually unaffected by it.

Granted, she wasn’t your typical Robin Hood. She pocketed every penny she obtained and used it to fund her next gig as well as pay for college, a more honorable end than what those people sure would be using that money for. 

But in a way she _was_ kinda righting other people’s wrongs, administering punishment for their wrongdoings. So, green clothes and bow and arrow aside, she was a vigilante of sorts. Kinda.

She was a criminal mastermind in her own way, and delved into some deep levels of trouble, but Felicity found the good within the tough, uncaring exterior. And found some solace from the fact even in her worst moments, Natalie had some firm lines for her work.

One of them being not actually sleeping with any... target, let’s say.

A rule Felicity herself has already broken. More than once.

But back to Natalie.

She had found that teasing worked just as well as actually going through with it would, so she had stuck to it, finding other unlawful ways to get her way without bending the remaining moral rules she had in place.

Yet, much like Oliver for Felicity, Michael was proving to be her pretend-self’s undoing.

For in today’s scene she was facing him again, this time as pure herself in her college’s campus. Next to her actual, real self’s boyfriend -who was more of a safety blanket than an actual loved one but still-. Completely getting busted.

Well not criminally busted, like hand-cuffs and jail time, but pretty freaking close.

 

“It’s going well, isn’t it?”

Felicity is startled out of her thoughts by the familiarity of the question, Oliver having shared that same sentiment just before they’d begun shooting _the_ scene that had pushed them down the path they were on.

Still this time it’s not his gravelly voice saying those words, but her other scene partner of the day, with his usual chipper yet nervous demeanor.

“Yes, Barry. Slade doesn’t seem grumpier than usual, and is moving around a lot, so I would bet so.”

“Oh, so movement is good?,” he shifts in the spot, light-green eyes etched on Slade’s every move like expecting to be yelled at.

She can’t blame him. It _is_ his first day. And Slade’s bluntness and stern directions that sound closer to commands are quite intimidating at first. His towering built and grumpy expression doesn’t help matters. But beneath it all she knows there’s only a burning desire to get the best results out of everyone, and a trusting faith in his actor’s craft.

“Yes. Stillness and utter silence is what you’ve got to be afraid of. This means it’s all working well, and there’s just little twitches to get done. You’ll get to read him in no time,” Felicity finishes flashing him a kind smile that, again, she’s grateful she’s capable of showing as Natalie’s disposition for the time being matches it.

That is until Oliver steps on set two hours later.

Breaking her easiness with Barry just as Michael does in the tale with Natalie and Chris. Felicity finds herself taking a step back from the casual geeking out she’d just been engaging in with Barry, actually finding common ground with his love for science. It’s just a brief pause, a halt to the simple back and forth of conversation as Barry keeps going without noticing the shift in the air she feels to the bone with Oliver nearby.

This time, when their eyes meet and Oliver gives her a faint smile, she does nothing to fight one of her own in return.

His instantly widens at the sight, eyes lighting up in mixed surprise and excitement at her changed demeanor. 

The promise of later leaves her lips in a whisper, one he uncannily gets and replies with a mouthed ‘later’ of his own before focusing on the actual work at hand.

 

When lunch break is announced a few hours later she feels strangely at ease, having settled into a different kind of warm-up for her talk with Oliver with their character’s light bantering of the day.

It’d started with a seductive ‘Hello _Natalie_ ’ from Michael that took her character by surprise and feeling quite busted and done for. Then escalated to the unveiling of Michael’s true identity as an actual freaking detective wanting to recruit her for the case of his career.

As it turned out, Natalie had been out-played in her own game; being canvassed and closely studied on her own by another lier extraordinaire. One who had discovered her criminal activities and, instead of turning her in or manipulating her into working for him, actually offered her the target of her lifetime.

The mob.

Another uncrossable line she’d set for herself since, after all, she had some fondness for her own life, as she proceeded to tell Michael. 

Yet, much like herself, he wasn’t one to easily give up, and knew just how to play with her ambitions.

The sharp ‘cut’ has been called before her pretend-self had made her decision. Yet, as she meets Oliver’s gaze between the buzzing crew scattering away for break, Felicity knows now is the time to make her own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Thanks for reading!_
> 
>  
> 
> I know, we've yet to reach the talk,  _but_ , as you can infer from the ending, it  _is_  happening in the upcoming chapter. No more baiting, I promise.
> 
> Truth is I had every intention of tackling it head on in this update, but the characters had a mind of their own and basically Felicity begged me to let her figure her thoughts out on her own, with every tidbit of information and development she got in the previous chapter, and have a girl talk with her Sara too. Now she's finally ready -or as ready as possible- to face Oliver. So expect next update to be very olicity heavy.
> 
> In the meantime, I'd love to hear from you all! Your feedback means more than I could say :)
> 
> xo, Lucy


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The talk. A window to what's up ahead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thus came the long-awaited talk. I sinceriously hope you like it! Great things are up ahead, I'm really excited about all that's to come :)
> 
> Again, thank you all so much for the warm welcome to this story and the continued support and interest! Please keep it coming in every way you can; it makes the journey so much better :)
> 
>  
> 
> _Happy read!_

 

Step and stop.

Felicity focuses on taking quiet sips from her cup of coffee as she waits for the crowd to clear.

She has a plan. Sight fixed on the small room just far away, used as a storage room of sorts, she waits until it’s vacant at last, before turning to Caitlin, who’s hardly ever more than a foot away from her side, and providing herself with an alibi.

“Cait, I’ll take my break inside today. Practice the scene.”

“Oh, sure thing. Let me know if you need anything,” the brunette is fast to reply with her customary warm smile in place.

“Yes, I’ll text you,” Felicity adds to secure their privacy. Ill-timed interruptions were seriously getting ridiculous by now.

At her assistant’s nod as she flurries away, Felicity turns away and begins walking a purposeful path towards her target, not before throwing a purposeful look at Oliver. 

Still, he’s deep in conversation with Barry. Or, more accurately, _Barry_ thinks he’s in deep conversation with Oliver, while the latter nods absently and shifts his gaze her way, waiting for the perfect moment to cut the young actor short and make his own getaway with her; having without a doubt, considering the tension in his body, gotten her cue to meet up. 

Yet their other co-star doesn’t seem to notice any of it, barely stopping to take a breather, his excitement over meeting and working with _the_ Oliver Queen showing in the anxious way his hands move frantically as he pronounces question after question, then hurries to respond with a careful analysis of its own.

Felicity can see Oliver losing his meticulous calm by the second, his lips tightening in a clear line as he takes a deep breath to interrupt Barry once and for all. 

They only have a thirty minute break after all.

Before Oliver can voice his complaint, Felicity steps forward, placing a hand on his forearm to noticeably get his full attention. And then, flashing her kindest smile, turns to address their third party.

“Excuse me, Barry, could I borrow Oliver here for a bit? There’s these lines we need to run...,” she purposefully trails off, dropping a final out for Oliver to take.

Both excitement and nerves fill her once Oliver, yet again, declines it.

“Yes, right. We’ll pick it up another time,” he adds with finality not waiting for Barry to voice more than a muted ‘of course, Mr. Queen’ before following her through the crowd and into the room.

 

Maybe it’s the warm colors on the walls, or the dim yet sunny lighting that shines above them, a stark contrast to the icy dim tinted ones of the set. Or the fact she’s highly aware of the fact that for the first time since that fateful night, they’re alone, together.

But suddenly Felicity feels a level of intimacy and nerves as she paces the small room once, twice, intensely aware of Oliver’s unmoving form behind her. 

She halts her movements at last when a thought comes forth.

“We don’t have scripts. I didn’t think that through.”

She’s beelining for the door in a second, their alibi falling through behind her eyes, when Oliver takes a hold of her arm, halting her in place.

It’s a gentle hold, one she could shrug out of without effort. Yet it speaks volumes. It means ‘stay’ and ‘be here’, ‘please stop running’ and ‘let’s face this’, ‘I want to.’

“Felicity,” he breathes once she makes no move to leave or take _his_ offer this time.

“Why do you always have to say it like that?,” she finally voices, mildly unaware of where she’s going with this train of thought.

“Like what?”

Leaning back she finally meets his eyes again, words playing in her tongue for a second longer as she’s slightly taken aback by their sudden closeness. She can almost feel his breath on her skin, his scent enveloping her senses like leaving a permanent record.

“Like it means a lot more than just my name.”

His sole reply is the slight curling of his lips upwards.

Then his sight flickers down to her mouth. Just for an instant, but enough to convey his intention. She’s so very tempted to do just that, but then the reason behind their ‘rehearsing’ comes to mind.

“We... hem, we should talk.”

“We should,” the bastard answers in a breathy whisper, widening his smile and softly caressing the inside of her elbow with his thumb.

Nope.

She’s not gonna jump on it -on _him_ \- without some peace of mind. Not again.

Taking a deciding step backwards, Felicity leaves his hold to resume her pacing. Still this time it’s calmer, slower, as she carefully chooses how to word her thoughts.

“The other night...”

“Yes?,” he calmly asks as she stops, taking a deep breath and facing him again.

There are a lot of thoughts jumbled in her head; one clear answer could help untangle them some.

“Was that _you_?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Oliver answers without delay, unwavering gaze trained on hers. “You?”

“Yes.”

Her voice is firm, decisive. Point one for Tommy Merlyn, she scores mentally.

“Good,” Oliver adds, his side smirk making a reappearance at their new stance.

“Good.”

A moment of silence takes over the room, before he chuckles catching her attention -as if it weren’t firmly planted on him beforehand-.

“What?”

“Nothing. Just... You’re talking in monosyllables now. I don’t know if it’s a good or a bad thing.”

“Oh my babbling. Yes, Natalie helps with that a lot, thankfully. There may be lots of inner countdowns from three as well.” His brow furrows in confusion, yet quickly morphs into the scrunching of his nose as she mutters a rushed ‘never mind’.

Silence settles between them again and, though there isn’t the expected awkwardness in it, there’s certainly a palpable tension she needs to resolve somehow, unless she’s planning to instantly combust anytime soon.

“Oliver... what are we doing?”

“Honestly?,” he asks back, swallowing whatever joke he could’ve muttered to lighten the mood. At her slight nod, he goes on, shifting his stance as he talks. “I don’t know... but I don’t want to stop.”

Those words definitely did _not_ make her heart skip a beat.

“Good. Me neither.”

“Good.”

That damn side smile is back in full force, effectively erasing any residual fears. In its place, her laughers fills the room.

“This sounds awfully like a business arrangement. Which is not really what I’m aiming at at all. There’s only so much of Natalie in me.”

“Yeah. There’s more than you thought though, isn’t there?”

“Yeah. I don’t know how Slade or you could see it, though.”

“It was all you.”

Damn Oliver Queen for always hitting her with the deadly combination of the right words and that breathy tone of intense sincerity.

“So...,” she just manages to come up with after a beat, taking a firm step forward to voice everything left unsaid.

“So,” he breathes back before, once more, erasing the space between them in a flash to press his mouth to hers. 

This time there’s no urgency in his touch, in the brushing of his lips against hers, in the soft way he cradles her face, his big palm cupping her cheek and tilting her head slightly to the side to carefully deepen the kiss. There’s no all-consuming fire rushing their pace, filling them with desperation and need.

Instead there’s tenderness and the ever wonderful feeling of satisfaction, of understanding, in the way she sighs his name before enveloping her hand on his one still guiding their movements, bringing him closer for a heavenly moment until the increasing chatter outside makes her pull away.

They’re breathing each other’s air next, foreheads pressed together for a calming moment before parting at last, a pair of warm smiles signaling their content.

“We should go back,” she whispers, making no move to leave.

“We should.”

Then, in true Oliver fashion, he throws her on a loop again, kissing her lightly once more, twice before breaking apart with a new smirk in place. Once she finally opens her eyes again, mentally cursing his effect on her, Felicity can’t help but chuckle and close the space again. This time to lift her hand to his lips.

“Oh,” he lets out as she rubs her lipstick from his smudged lips.

“Yeah. Don’t think that’s the best look to face them in. Thea’s already gonna be pissed she’s gotta re-apply my make-up for the twentieth time. I’m sure she’ll appreciate it less if she sees I spent it on you.”

He huffs a chuckle of his own at the thought.

“Oh, I’m sure Speedy would love that actually. Gossip is her-”

“thing. Yeah, she told me... after she found the hickey you left on me the other night,” she finishes with a stern look his way, flushing unintentionally at the thought. She’s gotta admit though that she is kinda proud at how he’s speechless for a moment before the trademark smile falls back in place. “Of course, I didn’t tell her it was _you_ who did it, thankfully. A little heads up about her being your sister would’ve helped, though.”

“In my defense, we didn’t exactly do much talking before...,” he argues, looking intently at her.

As if it were her fault. 

Well maybe it was. But he wasn’t totally free of guilt either. Him with all those heated stares of his and deep breaths that tightened the leash around her.

“We should change that,” she offers to lighten the mood, strangely aware that the thought fills her with glee instead of anxiety.

“We should. Friday night?”

“Great,” Felicity whispers back, sight lost in his swarming blues. And yes, it seems with Oliver Queen she’s either babbling to no end or reduced to monosyllable answers. 

She leans back just as he makes a move forward, to latch onto her lips again surely, pressing her right index finger against them instead.

“Nope. Lipstick, remember?”

He huffs in reply, lifting his hands in defeat as a treacherous smile finds its way to his lips beneath her touch.

“Good boy.”

It’s not lost in her how his eyes darken noticeably at those two words, a sudden hunger reappearing between them.

“Oliver..., not here,” she breathes at last, finding another topic they seriously need to discuss. “I’m, not comfortable with, you know, rumors and crowds and-”

“Us. Out there?”

She nods, grateful for the understanding look on his face and tone in his voice once he speaks up again.

“Okay.”

“Okay,” she mirrors one last time, letting mischief of her own lace her next words before retreating back to set. “Let’s get to work then, Mr Queen.”

She swears that damn smirk makes a reappearance at her words, just as she’s sure that his dark blues follow her every move for the rest of that long, torturous day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Thanks for reading!_
> 
>  
> 
> I promise the pace picks up after this, but felt in particular the stretch between their hook-up and them taking this decision needed to be explored in detail. 
> 
> New semester at college starts next week, so I won't be having so much time to write. But, and it's a big but -no pun intended-, I've already written quite a few snippets of chapters to come, so hopefully the update process won't be as far apart.
> 
> In the meantime, I would really really like to hear your thoughts. All of them, unfiltered, or as you wish. About what's already been posted, what you think will happen, what you wish would happen, what characters relationships/friendships you'd be interested in reading more of, if there's any film/shooting related situation or moment you imagine would be fun to explore; anything.  
> Your words, beside making my days brighter and cheering me on in the process, help to spark ideas as well. And, as much fun as I'm having just writing the story, I think it'd be cool if you played along with this 'verse as well :)
> 
> Until next time, then!
> 
> xo, Lucy


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new kind of dance, with a fast crescendo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I fully blame our olicity melt-down and bri for this.  
> I mean, it’s roughly what I had planned for this chapter (plot-wise), but I may have gotten side-tracked to focus solely on this scene.  
> Promise next chapter deals more with how they’re going to deal with all this and thickens the plot with where other characters are concerned.  
> As always, hope you like it!!

 

And so a new dance begins.

There’s not really a major shift in the air, in the way they behave around each other on set, or in their acting itself. But there is a promise of _more_ hanging in between them, in lingering looks and knowing smirks.

And as their characters take on a new road, of shattering their masks and toeing a fine line near a dangerous edge, reality follows fiction’s footsteps.

For what attempted to be a date turned out into...well, rushing straight to dessert.

“Wow, this is really nice.” Her mumble draws a chuckle from his busy lips. 

Because _of course_ she’s going to be admiring his McMansion instead of the delirious feel of his stubble on the skin of her neck, or the pull of his hands over her clothes to free her from it all.

“Should I be flattered or offended by that right now?,” Oliver breathes at last as she mentally chastises herself. Yet the self-blame game is soon gone from her mind as Oliver’s mirth is fully translated through the enthusiasm in his moves and lighting of his eyes.

“Both,” she teases before reattaching her lips to his, rekindling a firing game that just seems to get better and better if what comes next is any indication.

She may not know much about Oliver Queen the person, but damn if this man is a good lover.

And wow, that word is all kinds of weird and icky; a thought that swiftly vanished as Oliver trails his wandering hands under her shirt and over her ribs, to tug the black cloth over her head and dive his to taste a new path to insanity.

By now it becomes crystal clear to her that this feral and irresistible reaction her body has to his has nothing to do with her lack of sexual partners for the last few months. Because she can take care of herself, thank you very much, and studies have showed _herself_ was more than enough in that department, but _holy hell_ , nothing could compare to the feel of Oliver’s tongue down the valley of her breasts, as his hand grasps up her thighs to cup her ass and bring her down and closer to his–

Yup, that’s definitely more than what she could feel on her own. And more than her brain can compute, as it effectively shuts off then to any complaint on this moving too fast or in an unknown and very dangerous direction.

“ _Oliver_ ,” and wow, is that mewling rasp really her voice?, “is there actually a bed around here or are you always an against-the-wall guy?”

The combination of his stubble against the top of her breasts and the warm puff of air he exhales in reply, makes her quiver further in his hold.

“It was on a desk; but yes. _Patience_ ,” the tease lowly adds before latching back onto her skin, somehow holding her to him as he begins walking down the hallway, even if his hands are barely edging her ass and the back of her bra.

Yet it’s uncanny how she’s drawn to his body like they’re a perfect mold. 

Which is way too deep for what they’re doing right now. And dangerously close to the freak-out zone thoughts about Oliver’s uncanny ability to make her feel dragged into whatever this is.

“ _Patience_ doesn’t seem to be our thing, since we’re back here– _ah_ –skipping a fancy dinner somewhere–”

“Small talk is overrated,” he interjects, “ besides you said you wanted privacy; no crowds and us in the same sentence,” as they finally reach destination–not his room apparently, but a wide black couch that will definitely do the job.

“So the whole date thing today was just a line?”

“No.” He halts in his attack to draw back and meet her gaze. She’s pleasantly surprised –as it’s becoming the habit when it comes to Oliver Queen– when she sees both intensity and care in his deep blues before he continues, “I had dinner planned, right here. Pizza, small or big talk. _Then_ dessert.”

There’s a pause in his speech then, even though he smiles at her that side smirk that would have her quivering even if she weren’t already all over him and half-naked.

“Do you want to–”

And before the ridiculous word ‘ _stop_ ’ is voiced by him, her lips are on his; tasting, pulling, asking and giving, as her hand sneaks its way to the back of his head, holding him closer still, angling his movements as if she needed to. 

For she doesn’t know Oliver Queen the person well yet, but boy does she know he’s more than good at this. 

“Do you need any more encouragement?,” she actually freaking purrs when they part at last, with panting chests and thundering heartbeats.

That god-damned smirk that’s been driving her crazy from the very first day widens in reply, as he turns at last to drop them both onto the couch. Yet, in a move that’s wonderfully Natalie in Felicity, she grunts against his lips in complain and guides his body down first, effortlessly lowering herself then onto his lap.

The growl that grows from his chest in reply is downright illegal.

His steel gaze is burning holes on her skin, branding a path down her chest and over her thighs as his hands do his worst –read, absolutely _best_ – kneading the flesh upwards and over the swell of her ass to trace the edge of her leggings.

The swivel of her hips that comes next is unintended but so very welcomed if the growing against her center is any indication.

A smirk of her own finds its way to her lips at the hunger in his gaze, at how unbridled and yet wonderfully different he is from their very first time being like this, on a film set then on a secluded trailer.

“ _Fuck, Felicity_ ,” Oliver hisses at the sight of her hands trailing behind her to free her breasts at last, revealing the last of her outer self he’s had yet to meet.

He’s more than grateful for it, she can tell, as he instantly pushes forward into a half-sitting position to lick his way into her mouth again, desperately taking hold of her golden tresses and quickening the deliriously slow pace they’d been engaged in ever since leaving his car a mere ten minutes ago.

Suddenly neither can have enough.

As his mouth continues its onslaught with her own, then reddening a new path down her neck to her chest, she keeps more than busy exploring his body on her own. Hands racking over every wonderful ridge on his chest, mentally congratulating him because really, this is impressive and oh so distracting; particularly as he seems to know her tells already and finds his way back to her ass to pull her down and closer still, reeling them on.

Every stray thought is redirected back to their most immediate need –besides air, she’s so promptly reminded as their aching lungs tear them apart for a beat–.

Her commanding nature takes hold of her body then, raking her hands downwards to tug his pants loose, down and out of the way. In return Oliver growls accordingly, gleeful surprise coloring his blues at her careful direction. 

His hands draw an equally dangerous path down her waist, following the play of her hipbones with just the right combination of caress and urgency. 

“In mood for an entrée?,” his smoaky voice reaches her then, enchanting and laced with danger, taking her breath away in the best of ways.

“Later, Mr. Queen. Desert was promised and waited for far too long,” Felicity finds herself breathing down at him, rolling her hips with the mention of his name eliciting a most enticing roar from deep within his chest.

And thus the remaining leash is let loose as Oliver fully sears her with everything’s he’s got.

No more asking but following her expert lead in driving her insane, learning every slope of her body as if it were the very first time. Mumbling thoughts are exchanged then and again, intended innuendos this time mixed with slurred thoughts mostly consisting of their names and words like ‘more’ and ‘right there.’

And thus the best kind of battle she’s ever experienced comes again and again, with swift changes and unspoken challenges that are promptly _more_ than met, until she’s so wonderfully exhausted and deliciously satisfied in his arms, under an obnoxiously large thread-count sheet, falling freely into the land of dreams, knowing without a doubt that there’s nothing better she’ll be able to come up with than this.

For Oliver Queen is a riddle she’s just starting to unravel, yet gets more and more enticing by the moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Thanks for reading!_  
>  Pretty please let me know what you think!!  
> xo, Lucy


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where they are. What they want. And how talking is so overrated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And finally a new chapter is here.  
> This unintended hiatus was due to me having a pretty rough year in which I couldn't really handle anything resembling a responsibility. Basically everything became too much and I needed a break. I'm sorry it lead to leaving this as it was for so long, but I needed to take a step back.  
> Now I'm working towards being better and felt stable enough to pick this up and hopefully keep it going as well :) It's really looking up and not giving me as much anxiety, so yay!  
> I hope someone is still interested or excited about this. Enjoy!

Warm and soft. That’s how she feels.

...okay, it sounds dirtier than it is. Granted, she feels wonderfully sated and relaxed because of _that_ kind of activities, but the sentiment right now comes from the most glorious bed she’s ever laid on. 

What she doesn’t feel is the warmed skin around her, the one that enveloped her when she woke up in the middle of the night.

_Oliver_.

His name alone brings a smile to her face and the instantaneous reaction of clutching the soft sheet beneath her fingers.

_Oliver?_

Rubbing the last signs of sleep from her sight, Felicity sits up, holding the sheet to her naked chest and looks around. There’s no trace of him in sight, but a billow of smoke floats from the master bathroom.

The ringing of her cellphone strays her thoughts away from _that_ current of thought. With a muted ‘fuck’, she clutches the sheets closer to her body and rushes through the room and across the hall, padding the way to the sound of–

“Sara!,” she answers in a rushed breath once she finally has the phone in hand.

“Good morning to you too,” her best friend gushes with plenty of double meaning in her tone. “I guess your made bed means the talk went well?”

Dinner and get to know each other. Right. That’s why she’d been over to Oliver’s in the first place.

“Talk... yeah.”

The way she drifts off and keeps her answer devoid of details speaks volumes, effectively conveying the blush that overtakes her skin at the moment. Thankfully Sara knows her better than to push, simply sighing and laughing quietly at the crazy reality she’s worked herself into.

“No judgement here; I’m happy as long as you are. Just wanted to know if you were alright... And coming to lunch later?”

“Right!,” Felicity exclaims louder than intended, the shower silencing at the distance.

They had lunch plans, Sara leaving later that day for a shoot in New York. She actually facepalms herself for forgetting their goodbye ritual.

“I’ll be there, will try to stop by and take a quick shower or something.”

A chuckle clearly makes it through the phone at those words.

“I’ll see you in yesterday’s clothes, hon,” Sara says, knowingly, “no walk of shame if everything’s good for you both.”

“It is... I think. We haven’t exactly–”

“Talked?”

“Yup...,” Felicity paces around, lowering her voice as silence has settled into the room. “Do you think that’s weird? Or wrong? I feel like we should be talking about this... or something.”

“I think you’re _over-_ thinking this. Don’t talk yourself out of what you want out of fear, hun. Just trust yourself on this one, and possibly Oliver... If you ever get to talking.”

“You don’t have to sound so smug, you know?,” Felicity asks, amusement tainting her words. Yet something warms in her chest at the seriousness her best friend replies with.

“I’m just happy for you. Now go talk or not talk, and fill me in on lunch, okay? And give Oliver my best. I love you!”

And with a heartfelt, and thankful for calming her back from another meltdown, ‘love you too’ whispered in return, Felicity ends the call just as a hand settles on her hip, Oliver’s warmth pressed to her back.

“Sara says hi.”

The way he hums in return before nuzzling her neck _totally_ does not make her shiver and lean back onto his chest. Because after hours of living in Oliver-land, something as simple as his touch shouldn’t make her feel like melting.

“Sara Lance, right?”

And yup, the hoarseness of his voice isn’t helping any, the warmth in her chest taking over her belly as well.

This really feels quite near to perfect –for some reason they’re not entirely naked right now–, and only gets better as his hand leaves her hip and trails downwards over the sheet still around her, humming appreciatively as the cloth finally falls off her grasp to the floor.

Safe to say, there’s no actual talking for a while longer.

 

* * *

 

Slowly, she starts coming down. Heartbeat racing, chest still heaving and hair wild over the same sheets that felt so cold when she’d woken up alone. As Oliver’s hand moves back and forth over her thigh in soothing motions, still leaning over her, cold is the least of her feelings.

And nope, not going there. _Don’t over-think yourself out of a great thing, Felicity. You shouldn’t even_ be _thinking right now after he did that thing with his hips and–_

“Felicity?”

And of course he sounds like sex, even after actually getting some. Not even worry over her uncharacteristic quietness can make him less inviting. Thankfully the way his brow furrows, as a smile still plays on his lips, is all kinds of distracting from the million ‘what ifs’ about this _thing_ that could end in disaster.

“Breakfast!”

Unfortunately, that look also short-circuits her brain. 

“You mentioned desert yesterday? As in you cooking something? For us?” For some reason, everything that leaves her lips sounds like a question.

“Yeah,” Oliver chuckles, reading her distraction tactic, leaving the bed and a mildly panicking Felicity behind in lieu of clothes. Well, jeans only, before he smirks as she finally opens one eye to look his way.

“Breakfast it is,” he says before leaving the room.

 

* * *

 

Eventually Felicity psyches herself out of bed and into the shirt and underwear she wore yesterday, padding her way towards the sounds of Oliver cooking... pancakes? 

Blinking to make sure it’s real, she takes in the scene before her: Oliver Queen, shirtless and barefoot, with bed hair, making her breakfast. Straight out of her dreams. 

The smell of what promises to be incredible coffee makes it all the better and finally propels her forward. Nursing a cup she meets Oliver’s eyes as he turns from his spot to smile softly at her, taking her in with as much interest as she did him. 

There’s something so soft and tentative about this moment, still it feels right. She could get used to this.

Which, quite like free-falling, brings her back to the topic at hand. _Talking_. About this, them. If there is a _them_. At least a traditional them, or maybe a half-assed them, or just a plain friends with benefits kind of them.

Some answers have been settled, but many others hang in the air. Because right now she doesn’t know how any of this, work and non-work this, could work out. Just that they want it to.

“Oliver?,” she finally whispers, sounding smaller than intended.

“Hmm?,” he hums turning his attention back to her, and still flawlessly turning a pancake –a true talent, if you asked her–.

“I wanna talk.”

He simply pauses, no sudden movements or running out the door. Good.

“Talking. Which comes easily to me, normally. Except when it comes to you, apparently.”

“I think you do a pretty good job,” he quips giving her a soft smile, before turning back to his pancakes. And suddenly she doesn’t feel like the only one not on steady ground. “I...I’m not good, at talking.”

There’s a gentleness in his tone, in the way he’s holding himself; like now he’s the one expecting _her_ to go for the door.

So Felicity takes a step forward, placing her mug of half-drunk coffee on the kitchen table near him. Then, just as tentatively as he’s talking, she places a hand on his arm. When he turns back to her, the corners of her mouth lift reassuringly.

“Well,” she offers then, “It seems pretty clear by now that this is thing that’s happening.”

“Yes,” he adds with an amused smile at her choice of words. “I’m glad.”

“Me too,” and suddenly her cheeks are reddening, a mix of excitement and nerves crowding her stomach. “But in lights of what we do and what we _will_ have to do,” she edges, slowing her words, “it’d maybe be best to keep it light. To ourself, no pressure, just... Let it keep happening.”

He’s eerily quiet, taking in her words, only making her babbling worse.

“I mean, more controlled than before. Cause we can’t like keep jumping each other on set.”

“Well,” he chuckles, drawing her attention, “You’re the one that jumped me.”

And just like that, the tension breaks with his unnerving way to disarm her in just a moment.

“I did not. You showed up at my trailer all wild and panting–”

“Wild?”

“Point is maybe we need some rules to make this easier.” _Lower the risk of disaster_ , she adds to herself.

His hand leaves the pan turning down the stove, and comes up to caress her jaw, tilting her head back to meet his gaze. Blue as always, calm, joyful and filled with wonder. 

“Felicity,” he says fighting a smile, “isn’t the point of ‘light and casual’ that there is no pressure in it?”

“Not _pressure_ , just... Guidelines? Every game has those.” And yes, maybe she’s just trying to shield herself a little too hard. But how can she not when she’s already getting lost in that look on his face, in the way his hands feel against her skin? And now the bastard is giving her that disarming side smirk as well. Great!

“Oh so this is a game now?”

“No,” she argues as he edges closer, at least thankful for his playfulness with this all. “Just... Let’s keep this out of work. Please.”

“Of course,” he says at last, letting her see he’s serious, before letting his left hand skin over her side, bringing her forward.

“And to ourselves,” Felicity adds, her breath ghosting his lips.

He barely nods before closing the gap and tasting her lips, one slight caress at the time, erasing any fear in sight. 

“Though,” she gasps when he starts nibbling along her jaw, “it’s gonna be quite hard doing _this_ on set without actually _doing_ it.”

Oliver hums along her skin, lightly tugging at her earlobe before working downwards, edging her shirt. “We’ll manage.” 

“Really? Don’t you think they’ll notice?.” She’s borderline panting at the moment, his mouth all but devouring her neck, and why is she still talking? “I don’t think we’ll be able to pull this off. I’m not good at lying.”

He pauses then, leaving the reddened spot where her shoulder meets her neck to give her a look: eyes tightening into slits and mouth curving up in amusement.

“Felicity. You pretend for a living,” he breathes, with mirth in his tone.

“Yes, but not like _that_. You know what I mean. Besides, you’re one to talk! You’re worse than me in that department.”

At his innocent look she goes on, worry yet tainted with humor lacing her words.

“How long did it take Tommy to read it out of you? Five minutes?”

At least he looks somewhat apologetic at that, realizing his best friend surely said something about it.

“It’s alright,” she reassures, “just... we need to get better at this secrecy thing.”

“Okay,” he agrees caressing her cheek again, somehow easing through passion to tenderness. ”We’ll work it out...but not right now.”

“Why–,” she begins to question only to get her answer by the widening of that oh so familiar smirk now as he closes the space between them, pancakes be damned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Thanks for reading!!!_
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> I hope you liked it, and where it is heading. There's definitely more on set scenes coming forth, as well as more characters and dynamics coming to play. Let's see if they can stray from their 'no play on work time' thing...
> 
> Also, especially all this time, I would really really like to hear your thoughts. All of them, unfiltered, or as you wish. About what's already been posted, what you think will happen, what you wish would happen, what characters relationships/friendships you'd be interested in reading more of, if there's any film/shooting related situation or moment you imagine would be fun to explore; anything.  
> Your words, beside making my days brighter and cheering me on in the process, help to spark ideas as well. I think it'd be cool if you played along with this 'verse :)
> 
> Also, if you could go like and reblog this fic on [my tumblr](http://releaseurinhibitions.tumblr.com/tagged/love%20in%20shades%20of%20wrong), it'd really be awesome and hopefully spread the word. Positivity, support and response to this fic means a lot to me, especially right now.
> 
> Until next time!
> 
> xo, Lucy

**Author's Note:**

> _Thanks for reading!!!_
> 
> I would love to know your thoughts about it, suggestions, quotes you enjoyed, if you dig the style (I'm trying something new with more narrator-like intrusions here and there, as well as the time jump), whatever comes to mind. Just a sole smiley face will do the trick to make my day :)
> 
> xo, Lucy


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